On Kony

First of all: 

Watch this if you haven't already. While I have known about Kony and what has been happening in Uganda for quite a while, it has always been simply one of those events where no one really seems to do anything about it. There's been no huge television appeal, no mass coverage. It's been happening under our noses and because no one takes the time to look at something closely, everyone became ignorant. Kony is a monstrous man, that is no doubt. The campaigns' goal to put enough pressure on the Senate and people who 'matter' suggests the right idea, that we cannot do anything but make the people who can act on it. But there's only so far they can go.

The sad thing is, if we blindly donated to the regime within Uganda, we are not donating to the good guys. Only donating to the slightly less evil ones. The Ugandan army has committed many an atrocity. The only real people we can look after are the people who aren't part of either. And then, what are we going to do? Throw money at them when it will go straight into the hands of the military? As is the case in many African nations, sometimes we can only sit back. Blindly throwing money is never the answer, look at Somalia. And that also showed that blindly throwing troops into a hell hole doesn't work. A U.N backed peace keeping aid mission may be the only logical solution but you try selling that to the international community right now. Should first world countries play the game of international police? I believe they should, it's there responsibility. Surely the right thing to do when faced with something like this is to stand up and do everything in your power to stop it? Not just let people die because we don't have the money. You wouldn't do that in real life. You wouldn't not help a woman who had fallen over in the middle of the road because you don't have the effort. At least, I hope that is true.

There are hundreds of regimes out there and each one needs to be dealt with but we can't just deal with them all. What needs to happen is a consensus on how we can bring the ones responsible to justice. Short, sharp operations aimed at the very highest level with precision, backed by international aid groups and advisors to stabilise. That's the only option. As we saw in Libya, the precise military action can help. We just forgot about what would happen after.

Above is one of the most powerful photos I have ever seen. The woman pictured is the wife of a U.S marine killed in Iraq. It's part of a series of pictures that won a Pulitzer prize - one of the few that deserved it. If you want to see the rest, it's here.

This really shows one important thing about warfare and loss. To a historian, it is far too easy to forget that every single loss is immeasurable against the other. The families suffering is immense, and whether the cause is just or not, we cannot forget this. As Stalin said - one death is a tragedy, and one million a statistic. But to the families, it will always be that one death.

Born to Run. (Away)

Alright, so it has been a pretty eventful year so far. Somethings have happened that while neccessary, still hurt. But I don't hold regrets. Was the time of my life. But this post isn't about that. I'm heading off to university in September at long last, to do a history degree, something I've been meaning to do for so long but never dragged myself to actually getting it done. But now I'm going. So really, this year is about preparing to that. Seeing friends before I head off I guess. But that makes it seem permanent. Like I'm going to australia or the Colonies. Yes, colonies.

But anyway. Shall start updating this more often.

And I will now finish with a song!

Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules

Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these.

But of all the world's great heroes, there's none that can compare.

With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, to the British Grenadiers.

Those heroes of antiquity ne'er saw a cannon ball,

Or knew the force of powder to slay their foes withal.

But our brave boys do know it, and banish all their fears,

Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers.

Whene'er we are commanded to storm the palisades

Our leaders march with fuses and we with hand grenades.

We throw them from the glacis, about the enemies' ears.

Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, the British Grenadiers.

And when the siege is over, we to the town repair.

The townsmen cry, "Hurrah, boys, here comes a Grenadier!

Here come the Grenadiers, my boys, who know no doubts or fears!

Then sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, the British Grenadiers.

Then let us fill a bumper, and drink a health to those

Who carry caps and pouches, and wear the loupèd clothes.

May they and their commanders live happy all their years.

With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers.

Eh

These few weeks have been different, to say the least. I can't help but give way to the overbearing feeling of helplessness. Like things are changing and I can't do anything about it. Or I don't know what to do at all. This isn't about one single thing, it's about everything. I just feel helpless in general. So if you excuse me, I'm going to attempt to learn a new language to keep my mind busy.

This made me think. The film - The Great Dictator, made in 1940, by Charlie Chaplin. The famous slapstick and comedy writer. A little bit of background research would tell you that he was advised against releasing it - a satire on Adolf Hitler. The film itself is hilarious, as only Chaplin can be. But it is the speech at the end that truly made me think. Today, Europe doesn't really suffer under the wrath of a tyrant, but people do, somewhere in the world. I used to believe in the old system, purely because I thought mankind was only good for that. It could not do better, we are all wrong, we are all selfish. I am starting to think I'm wrong. Am I no longer a cynic? Balls to that, cynics get the best jokes. But freedom is something every single person should have, but they don't. They don't because they are different, they are poor. They are black, white, christian. Muslim, Jewish, anything. Humanity and there will never be anyone like the next person you see. You walk down the street and the person you first see is the rarest sight - you will never see anything like them again. We preserve species because they are unique and rare - why not preserve eachother? Not for the good of a 'race', for the good of 'all'.

On recent events.

No, this isn't a rant. I wish to express something about this weeks events. What we saw in Oslo and Utoeya was the worst kind of tragedy. The man, if we can call him that, dealt an unforgettable hell to all of those people, both on the island and in the capital and yet the Norwegians did not respond with cowardice or hatred but merely promised that they will become a more tolerant and open society. To me, personally, this tragedy has really affected me. It happened in a country I could possibly call my own, in and around a city I grew up in. One of the most beautiful countries in the world fell victim to a horrific act, by a hateful person.

I feel for every single family who has lost a relative, everyone who has lost a loved one. There's not much more I can really say, words don't seem to be enough, but I am thinking about them.

Completely unrelated fiction.

An idea shamelessly stolen from a good friend of mine - her blog is here.
Except, this uses classical figures!

The first to enter the cramped and dusty pub is a resplendant man, shining in golden armour with a billowing red cape. His hair is neatly trimmed and yet he looks twelve. Due to the absence of a beard probably. Sitting at the barstool, he orders every drink in the house, downs them all and mutters something about conquering the known world before dropping his spear and mentioning how his father, Philip, did nothing for him. And then, suddenly, a collection of strange looking Greek and Macedon hoplites, all unshaven, come in and surround him for no apparent reason. He decides that the table by the window is his and they all enter a phalanx, Alexander mounts his horse and charges towards the seat. In the pub.


The next to enter is no less resplendant and strangely similar, he'd been watching the young Macedonian through the window and decides to charge a table by the door, occupied by some long nosed Italian looking men, all neatly ordered and clean. Pyrrhus takes some burly yet stupid Greeks charge, fall over and all seem to die or lose limbs for no apparent reason. Yet the older Greek of Epirus takes the table, declares victory with his one remaining man, heavily wounded and screams triumph, staring and the frightened and embarrassed younger man by the window. 


The door burst open, and Hannibal enters, with a carved elephant and screams at the Romans sat at the bar, whom he decides to enter a barfight with them all, managing to outmatch and beat them all - until they decide to chase him down the road, where he hides in bins and skips, beats the hell out of them and flees again. Then a bald headed Roman, named Scipio decides to step out the way and kicks him in the side and the bearded man flees. Looking pleased with himself, he walks into the bar and the other Romans chase similar looking beardmen down the road with bins. 


A slightly chubby Roman - Pompey - enters after the bald one, followed by Crassus, clutching gold coins and Julius Caesar in military dress, balding with a hawk like nose and the ever loyal Marc Antony following him. In his arms, a beautiful Queen, Cleopatra - but he fails to notice the Legionnaire grabbing her backside though. Following but avoiding them, Cicero, an older, wiser man enters, sits at the bar, speaks for what seems to be hours in a strangely stirring manner until he finally drinks a ton of gin, speaks some more and begins to write, a clutch of wig wearing Americans, French and English liberals surrounding him, copying and screaming in his direction. 


The bar erupts! Caesar has started a fight with the barman! Pompey enters, punches Caesar but Caesar sends him flying out the window. Crassus, however, had drowned himself in cheap golden alcopops. The bar is Caesars! After several hours of nothing happening, a load of men, one of them talking to Marc Antony about breasts, all jump Caesar and stab him. Then a young man named Augustus calmly enters, decides the bar is his, wears a crown - proving it is and shoots the men who stabbed Caesar. He then chases Marc Antony and Cleopatra down the road with a stick, until they both jump in front of a bus. Returning back, he sees Cicero dead - but he looks like he's still writing.


Augustus renames the bar and nothing really happens.

Don't take me this way

It's sometimes when I wonder why exactly I'm a misanthrope - or rather, try to be.
People, however. As a collective, as an entity are stupid.

Example: Someone who is insecure about themselves and their family life and decides to pin everything on their friends thus making their parents hate said friends. Or rather, make it seem apparent that they do. It's frankly ridiculous.

Of course, their are some exceptions and they know who they are. But still, people are dicks.

Isn't humanity wonderful? Nah. I'll tell you what is wonderful.

Coffee and a certain person who seems to surpass humanity in her existance.

Headlights on the hillside...

Some call it a gift - the ability to read another. There are somedays when I see this apparent trait as one. But, in reality. It's just guesswork and paranoia. Just thought I'd throw that out there.

I admit my flaws more readily then others, in fact - I hardly have anything but flaws to say about myself at all. Negativity and pessimism are second nature to me. If you're reading this and expecting some blog post about how I'm going to change this, jog on. My pessimism is my shield and my negativity is my armour. I can't possibly change these, they define and control me to the point where they are second nature.

Perhaps I'm just too comfortable in my whirlpool of despair and self loathing. Perhaps my strange undefinable complex is just...who am I and that others who constantly ask me to be optimistic should just go away.

'Always look on the bright side of life' is a good song, sure, but the only time I'd look at the bright side is if it was a fire burning my home to pitiful cinders.

What a happy post.

Back to Joy Division!

Anything Goes?

As many an old timer goes - “this modern music these days is just noise”. Of course, not all of us lived in that wonderful era of music we call the 20s - 50s, a time of Cole Porter, Buddy Holly, Bobby Darin, Muddy Waters and many more amazing musicians. Most of us who read this would have grown up in the Nineties, a decade ravaged by bad Euro-pop and Geri Halliwell wearing the Union Flag. But the nineties are also known for Radiohead. Blur and thus Damon Albarn, the resurgence of British icons such as Paul Weller and Morrissey oh and Oasis, for those imaginative souls out there…

But the ‘Noughties’ as those with no brain call this era is a time where literally, anything goes. Good song writers who once knew better lines now only four letter words when writing songs. Music has become an industry of faux advertisement and cross platform promotion for media. The most obvious example - Justin Bieber, is a young pop icon who probably does not write his own material, sing using his own voice or play any instrument. But no one takes him seriously as an artist. As a product, he sells like wildfire. His record label know this and he has hit the target market massively and there are many more of this gone and buried and even more to come. But this decade has spawned some utter genius. Bands such as Mastodon, an American progressive metal group continue to prove that uniqueness and talent are very much alive - their album Crack The Skye is a musical masterpiece. It also saw the resurgence of folk in the brilliant band Mumford & Sons, the Britpop scene coming back (did it even die?) with Kasabian, Muse and the utterly unique and unquestionably awesome Gorrilaz.

The music industry may be a corporate machine akin to a man pushing people through a sausage machine and feeding it into the minds of more meat filled talent less souls, but a lot of the bands around are utterly genius. All one needs to do is look beyond the mainstream charts.
Looking at a song on you tube?
Go click that random band on the related videos and listen. If you don’t like it, click again. You might find something you’ll enjoy. And they might turn out to be your next favourite band. Music is not about the same old band over and over again, it is about experimentation. Stick with the old yet learn from the new.

"The World is your oyster."

Above is a cliched statement. Many were probably told this, but I surely wasn't. People are told by their parents that they can do great things, that they are special. That they have the power to do amazing things. (I wasn't, but eh is not being disillusioned a problem now?) The key to this is simple. You are born, you go to school, you go to college, you go to university. You get a job. People try and escape the system but ultimately they can't.

You can't just leave university and do something amazing. Well, not strictly speaking, you could do but the majority of the time, no you're a generic student who drinks lots and has a degree and no idea what to do with it. Maybe you'll attempt to fulfil your dreams.

When I was growing up, I wanted to be many things. A dinosaur, for instance. A spaceman. A soldier, a Space Marine, an officer, a lawyer, a detective. Indeed I'm still rather childish about the whole thing. No idea where I'm going.

But at the end of the day, regardless of the endless institutions and drawn out paths. The world is your oyster. Work hard and you can do amazing things. I don't get those with no motivation, the lazy ones with no attempt to make a future who believe they are doomed to work retail. Work against it, study, do projects, anything.

Spend hours designing that subspace laser cannon. Then you'll get noticed.

"We're going to do this forever, aren't we?"

History and fiction are all full of stories of great men and great enemies. Conflicts between two men or women of such greatness that they sound only true in works of fiction - and in some cases - they are works of fiction. Holmes and Moriarity, Batman and the Joker, Superman and Lex Luthor, Barney the Dinosaur and Adolf Hitler (okay this one isn't true but eh, somewhere on the internet there probably is a picture of Barney battling Hitler).

But history has produced some fantastic match ups, ones produced which creates such fantastic conflicts and match ups. Wellington and Napoleon, Scipio Africanus and Hannibal Barca, Montgomery and Rommel and many more. All of this epicness regarding people and arch enemies makes me want a nemesis. A comical one whom I battle on the back of speeding trains or on the wings of biplanes. Man that would be awesome.

It was just a thought, though....

Hurr.

So, this is not my usual post. I am in a pleasant mood, listening to pleasant music while thinking of pleasant things.



So come and join me feeling pleasant.

A Manic Day Out.

Wake up, alarm didn’t go off. Or you didn’t hear it. Roll out of bed, leaving that awful mess of a room behind. Walk dazedly into the bathroom, clean teeth, fall asleep in shower. You didn’t sleep properly again. Train leaves in fifty minutes, get ready or you’ll miss it. Grab money, bag and get dressed. Don’t shave again, too tired. Leave house, not saying a word to the parents who sit awkwardly in the kitchen talking politics and drinking weak coffee. Walk towards the bus top and stand next to a few old people. They smell a bit like pine trees. Get on the bus and pay, the old people didn’t get on. Sit on the bus.

Journey is dull, past the same old buildings, architecture trying to remind you of places long past and childhood memories but you are used to that wooden cabin and the steel fences. Go past an abandoned and fenced off train yard, covered in day old snow and brown mush. More like it, you think. Get off the bus and hurry through the town centre. The same old people walk past, carrying the same old things (Thatcoupleonthebenchisn’tactuallylookingandtalkingaboutyoustopthinkingtheyare). You swear you just walked past the same group of people but then you remember they all look the same. Walk past old girlfriends’ sister. Greet them awkwardly and hurry off towards the train station. Cross roads, don’t look, don’t care. No traffic anyway. The train station is in front. Reminds you of some awful block of flats and a mess of glass and dull grey stone. Walk inside. You’re not actually catching a train or going anywhere, you just liked to feel like you’re going somewhere. Stand around, walk off. Check phone, creepy girl text you again. Ignore it and carry on. Start remembering just how creepy the girl can be and hurry off feeling that you’re being watched. You are, there’s a CCTV camera tracking you but they always do that. The guard probably isn’t watching, he’s probably reading some poorly written rag while sipping coffee out of a plastic coffee. You now want coffee and then the tiredness hits in. That week of little sleep kicks in and you feel like everything is really slow. It is, the homeless man in front is walking really slowly. Ease past him and notice he’s listening to an iPod. Carry on, hear sirens. They aren’t after you why would they be, but then again you are crazy. That planes a bit low you think, duck instinctively. You’re insane.

Walk through the same muddle of faces and obese creatures. Shops are surprisingly full, tons of teenage girls trying to look twenty and buying cheap clothes which won’t last a week, like their relationships.
Head home, get on the bus and show the driver that day rider ticket you bought. He smiles and you sit down and smell coffee again. Put headphones in, Pink Floyd makes it all better. You stop thinking and start day dreaming of the songs, their colours beating through your mind. Then listen to Radiohead and start noticing the things around you. Go into bag, take out rubix cube and try to solve it. Man looks across and smiles. Looks like he’s having trouble at home, tired eyes and constantly fiddling with his ring finger. He goes into a wallet and looks at a picture. Maybe he lost his wife. Look down when he looks across. Didn’t see you, good. Don’t want people thinking you’re nosey. Not nosey, just bored. Solve rubix cube again. Get off bus, wrong stop. Walk anyway. Need the exercise. Go home, walk in. Parents have swapped places and don’t notice you. They are like an old painting and you can see the cracks in the oil. You want to paint again.

Paint again, don’t know what you’re painting. Ends up being this mess of gears and abstract shapes. Hide it under your bed, don’t like parents seeing your work and commenting. Know they look anyway. It’s five o’clock, dinner soon. Eat dinner, don’t say a word as your parents sit awkwardly. Ask yourself if they actually exist outside the kitchen. They watch that awful Australian soap while you poke at the mess of mince and potato on your plate. You hate Shepherds Pie but you get it every week. Turn on computer, go on the same old social network sites and sit staring for a few minutes at what people have said. You don’t care, see some of your friends have posted amusing things. Laugh to yourself and leave the computer again, bored again. Pick up that week old copy of Times to do the puzzles, you’ve done them all. You have college work to do, so you start it. Then look at your saved history, you’ve done it all. Just haven’t handed it in. You say to yourself, ‘must hand it in’ but you’ll forget.

It’s later now and you can’t remember the last two hours. Step into bed and lie there. You won’t sleep again but you try anyway. Dad walks in and asks you to walk the dog, You already have, he doesn’t believe you. Ignore him and try to sleep. Fall asleep, it’s five o’clock. Gotta be up at six.

Wake up, alarm didn’t go off. Or you didn’t hear it.

Unreachable dreams, but by choice?

The other day, I was in the town of Dartmouth in the south coast of England, on a routine family meet up. I was of course distracted as usual, I find myself easily distracted by things - from crabs to hallicunations to other symbols of my probable insanity but still, this isn't the point. On a large hill above the town is the Royal Naval College, a magnificant building and my possible home when I decide to finally enlist. And as I was there, a thought passed through my mind. Why even bother with a third year? I could easily just wonder to the recruitment station and start the whole process.

Of course I'm not that naive. I have massive doubts about being accepted and I feel if I were to balance everything on this one almost - impossible career dream of mine then if I don't get it I haven't got anywhere to go - apart from retail. A fate worse than death. I'd rather be prepared for every possible outcome then be surprised as surprises annoy me.

Maybe I won't get into the Royal Navy, or any of the careers I want to do - maybe my...flaws will prevent me. But in utter contrast to my general demeanor, I'd rather try then just give up there and then. If there's anything I've learnt, it's that one should never give up, especially not before the game has even started. Life is short and dull so why not take risks. Spread your arms and jump off the edge rather than sitting awkwardly at the cliff. And yeah that's a metaphor. If you're going to jump off of a cliff wear a parachute or something. Unless you fancy being a human omelette. I like omelettes.

For now I will do my third year of college and study until my brain implodes from the workload. I'm fairly sure I had more to write for this blog but I cannot remember what it was so instead I shall write a stupidly long sentence with no breaks and force your mind to burn at its sheer length and the horror of statements without commas which believe me hurts because sometimes a sentence is so long that one actually runs out of ideas of what to put in the sentence and ends up ironically describing that one cannot think of anything more and this is ironic because it actually adds to the sentence and thus increases its length which creates a much longer sentence which is much harder to read.

That actually hurt to write.

Anyway, Blair is an idiot.

Stupid things people sat at work #!

They are so hilarious, I did have to share them for people to laugh and/or smirk at the idiots of this world. Maybe you won't get half the jokes if you don't work in retail, mind. What makes it funnier is that they are all true.

May or may not have been copied from my own profile on facebook.

"Excuse me sir, where do you keep the eggs?" - While standing in front of the eggs looking at them.

"Where can I find the cigarettes?" - Upon entering the shop.

"Can I pay by cash on this?"

"No sir that till is cards only for now until it's fixed."

"Okay. Can I pay by cash though?"

"No it's not working."

"But can I use this £5 note?"

"No sir the till isn't accepting notes."

- Customer then precedes to insert his £5 note, thus breaking the till.

"Where can I find a member of staff?"

"You're speaking to one"

"I need to speak to a staff member"

"I can show you to my manager if you want..."

"No I want a staff member!"

"Do you do holidays in here?"

"No sir this is Tesco. There's a travel agent down the road though."

"How much is this loaf of bread?"

"That's not a loaf of bread sir, that's a madeira cake."

Customers are idiots.

Herp Derp Results

Results day today. Herp derp, derp herp hurr de durr derp de la derp herp herp. Derp herp? Herp a derp derp hurr durr Ima durr hurr derp. Durr herp, de derp de diddley derp. Durr, herp a derp de derp hurr.

See I would make a post about my results but it would be generic.

Enrolment is full of idiots.

Red hot pokers of irritance.

Alas, for I have not posted here for a while! What woe fortide that which doth not update!
I'm still wondering if people actually spoke like that or if it was a crude joke made by Shakespeare. I'd love it if it was a joke to be honest. Would be hilarious. But anyway. Haven't really had the time to update due to copious amounts of overtime, creative ideas up the ying yang and forays into the abyss that is Swindon.

I wouldn't be human if I didn't have aspirations - although I am adamant to deny any relation to the human race, silly things they are. Misanthropic tendencies aside, I can't help that my misty eyed dreams of careers are teetering on the naive. As in; careers I am not likely to fall into or even succeed in application. Coming from a military background, I've always wanted to serve like my father and those before him and I am on my way to apply to the Royal Navy - full application as an officer will be after my final year of college. Now, I don't hold any belief that I will get in and get past selection but still one must dream. But, I do have back ups. Good thing about being as mental as me is that I have many other careers I'd love to go in.

Journalism is one. An investigative one, just because it's something to keep my mind involved and it's rather interesting. The word 'investigative' leads right into my other, more recent idea. Of joining the police force as an investigative officer. Sounds like an awesome career.

But that's because I watch too much Luther - awesome show.

And finally, Ian is an idiot.

Bluesy desires.

Alright on a less personal note; I have a strong and uncontrolable desire to play the blues. Not just randomly jam, but with someone, but alas, there is no one bar my father who seems interested. A father-son collabaration may be in order. I feel that I do not have the right guitar for it. A fender stratocaster will leave a nice bluesy feel and have a similar feel, but it'll lead to the inevitable Gilmour sound as there's no other way to play a Strat, for me anyway.

So I may end up buying a telecaster anyway...

Right, onto matters of news and such. Recently, the website Wikileaks revealed a damning intelligent report about NATO led actions in Afghanistan, which details civilian deaths, soldiers acting without orders and the seemingly assassin like nature of U.S special forces.

I understand the freedom of the press and I implore the idea of censorship. But surely there should be a line, where journalists don't go. Information is powerful, it can destroy governments. But when it puts our forces in danger, that's shakey ground. A number of people will belay that this demonstrates the pointless nature of the conflict in Afghanistan and yes the figures are deeply disturbing and condemn actions. But frankly, this should happen after the war. The figures in some of these documents show information which could be used against our own forces and thus endanger troops. I don't care if you think war is bad. These people are our soldiers. Death is bad, war is bad. But it's unstoppable.

Wikileaks is an idiot.

Ponderings of a madman.

It's twenty to one in the morning, and I'm sat with a bottle of gin listening to Stereophonics. Usually I'd call this a good evening but something in my head is different. (Also this blog is getting more personal each post...) I'm no alcoholic, nor am I some disgruntled forty year old but yet tonight I feel like one. Maybe it's the fact I haven't shaved in a while and the come-up after a depressed episode, but, well I don't know.

There's a number of things I can't explain about my thoughts or the way my head works, but I'd sure like to know it all. I know that ignorance is bliss, but this ignorance of myself is almost demeaning. I know it's who I am - but why? How? Am I doomed to not know all there is about myself?

All I do is look for the answer to myself, it's driving me to the point of extremes but maybe when I solve myself I can solve others.

Who knows, that's the joy of life. Never knowing.